


Sentimental Education

by buckyownsmylife



Category: Night Hunter (2018)
Genre: Breeding Kink, F/M, Implied Age Gap, Professor/Student Relationship, Smut, reader is a grad student, so no underage business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 14:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30039903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckyownsmylife/pseuds/buckyownsmylife
Summary: The one where you’re having an affair with your professor but he wants so much more…
Relationships: Walter Marshall (Night Hunter)/You
Kudos: 6





	Sentimental Education

Walter’s P.O.V.

Was it wrong to want her so badly?

The question had taken over my mind ever since I first laid eyes on her, so proper, so beautiful, in the middle of the crowded room. And if only it was an ordinary room, but I couldn’t have that type of luck. It had to be a classroom, _my_ classroom, and she had to be one of my students.

At least she was a grad student, there to assist me in the transition to become a professor, but I don’t think it eased my guilt at all. Seeing her there, biting the edge of her pen, her focus completely on me, I wanted to dedicate the same type of attention to her. I wanted to be able to stare at her for two hours without people judging it, pretending to know what was going through my head.

The closest I got to it were our weekly meetings to plan for the next class. Just me and her, and a tiny office that felt even smaller when her perfume filled it, overpowering me. I liked to see myself as somewhat of an authoritative man, at least in the sense that I didn’t easily get intimidated by anyone else, but my God did she make me want to get on my knees and just… worship her. Give her the treatment that she deserved.

I didn’t think she noticed it at first, too unaware of her own allure to see how my eyes always lingered on the little exposed skin her outfit allowed me to see, my body instinctively so desperate to be near hers that I always stood just a bit too close.

But then one day, everything changed. And I didn’t know what was the cause for it, couldn’t point out if anyone asked me. What led us to that day where the very nature of our relationship changed? I don’t think she knew it either. 

All we could say was that one Thursday met us with a particular vulnerability I wasn’t used to feeling, but seeing her crying awakened something inside of me - something possessive and protective and suddenly all I wanted was to make her feel okay again.

Was it wrong to want her so badly? I was mature enough to admit that no, to want someone so desperately meant nothing in the quiet of the night, when there’s a distance between our bodies and the one we want spread out under us. 

But I was also old enough to know that there was _a lot_ wrong in the fact that the distance between us was nonexistent, and it had been this way for almost every night ever since that Thursday.

“I’ll make you feel so good,” I promised against her lips, and she didn’t even open her eyes to acknowledge my words, just whined against my mouth, body tightly pressed up against mine as I deposited kisses all over her skin. My voice was so raspy with desire that I could barely recognize it as my own, a testament to how much I still needed her despite how much I’d taken from her already.

My hands explored her body before my tongue followed it, always so fascinated by her curves and her warmth, the way she responded so well to me. Goosebumps and tiny little moans, the way her nipples puckered when I rubbed my nose over them, the way I always found her wet, so wet when I finally opened her legs.

There was nothing quite like being inside of her. I was addicted to it now, I couldn’t deny it - and when she tugged me by my hair to meet her lips as I penetrated her, there was no part of me that worried about my fate. I’d go to hell willingly.

I couldn’t regret what I needed. And I needed to feel her walls clenching around me, her lips abandoning mine because she couldn’t hold her breath anymore. The look on her face when she met her high was what got me through the time I couldn’t hold her, the moments I had to pretend I never learned how she tasted.

It was the unspoken promise I’d get to see it again someday.

“Good girl,” I groaned, quickening my thrusts as I changed the angle so I could hit her sweet spot, fascinated with the way she twisted and mewled from under me, eyes silently asking me to give her what she wanted. “Always such a good girl for me.”

This was how it started. The fantasies that quickly spiraled out of control - the fact that I couldn’t show my love and devotion, my need and desire. It started with a simple question: what could I do about the fact that I wouldn’t have her forever?

And the answer came in the form of the memories of what we had already shared, just a bit different. In my fantasies, I could have her completely raw, fill her with my seed until it was dripping out of her, staining the sheets underneath. Changing her from the inside, making her mine.

I imagined her begging me for it, desperate for my cum, pleading me for a kid. And then when she figured out she was actually pregnant, the nervousness with which she’d let me know, almost fearful of my reaction once it was a reality.

Of course, I’d do whatever it took to make her happy. Run away, quit my job, find a nice small house, raise a family together. I craved to watch her body change, her stomach and breasts get bigger, knowing it was because of me. All because of me.

I wanted to get her as dirty as me. And the fact that I had her right now, creaming around me, with no idea of what was going through my mind, only made me feel filthier, only added to my arousal.

At the end of the day, I didn’t care about the future, not even ours. Just as long as I could keep fucking her.


End file.
